


it’s not like i believe in everlasting love

by mihael_jeevas



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, awkward romances between teenage boys, gokudera hayato doesn't play well with others, yamamoto may or may not be a saint in disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihael_jeevas/pseuds/mihael_jeevas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this rate, Gokudera thinks he should publish a guide: 'how to ruin a perfectly decent relationship in one fell swoop.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s not like i believe in everlasting love

There are three things in this world that Yamamoto Takeshi excels at: playing baseball, swinging a sword, and, according to Gokudera Hayato, being a complete and utter fuckup.

Just because they’ve started dating doesn’t mean that Gokudera has any intention of being nice to Yamamoto; he’s thrown plenty of insults and a few punches over the last couple of years and look where that got him. If there is one thing he has learned in his short yet incredibly eventful life it’s this: if something’s not broken, do not think for a second about fucking touching it. 

So he and Yamamoto stick to their usual routine, only now their routine includes blowjobs and breakfasts. 

At first it’s awkward: they’re still young and neither of them knows what to do with a relationship, let alone with each other. Yamamoto walks on eggshells, poking around to find out what is and isn’t okay while Gokudera tries not to strangle him every time he steps on a buried live-wire. It’s not Yamamoto’s fault that his new boyfriend happens to be a clusterfuck of burn scars and abandonment issues, Gokudera knows this, but his gut still coils. 

Then things start going well and Gokudera wants to run for the hills. If things are awful, he can manage. He thrives when everything goes to shit. But he doesn’t understand pleasant things, especially when they’re done for him. None of it--Yamamoto waiting outside his apartment in the morning to walk with him to school, Yamamoto inviting him over to have dinner with his father when Gokudera’s stressed, Yamamoto pulling Uri out of Gokudera’s scalp after she’s lodged herself in his skin—makes any sense. 

Not that he tells Yamamoto this. It’s probably a relationship no-no to keep complete emotional incompetence a secret, but there really isn’t an easy way to say ‘everyone I’ve ever known has fucked me over so royally I’m raw to the touch.’ Instead he turns to his usual not-coping mechanisms: excelling at school, smoking like a freight train, following Tsuna around, and snapping the head off anyone who dares to cross his place, specifically Yamamoto. Even Gokudera is taken aback by his mean-spiritedness, but it’s better to be cruel than kind, he thinks. Better Yamamoto knows exactly what he is before he gets too deep in whatever they are. 

Somehow piano has found its way back into his life. It was one of the last things Gokudera expected, considering the way they parted. After his mother’s death he could hardly stand to look at a piano without his stomach cramping and the blood draining from his face. But then the Family learned about his “talent” and, well, who was he to refuse the Tenth if his Boss wanted to hear him play? For the first time in years his fingers glided over the keys, and it felt like he’d never stopped. He’d stumbled over a few notes, though nobody but him, the eternal perfectionist, would notice. When he finished he’d looked up to see everyone smiling at him and Tsuna clapping and Yamamoto staring at him with the oddest look on his face. Of course that mystery was quickly solved when Yamamoto decided kissing Gokudera on the Tenth’s porch during one of Gokudera’s many smoke breaks was a good idea.

There’s a grand piano in Namimori’s music room that Gokudera’s taken to visiting. It hasn’t been used in years if the thick layers of dust and rickety keys are anything to go by. It’s comforting to be alone with music again, to be able to clear his mind of everything expect soaring notes and the soft breeze blowing through the open windows. The world falls away, which is probably why he doesn’t notice he has an audience until the sound of clapping bounces off the walls. Gokudera doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“You were amazing!” The cheer in Yamamoto’s voice claws down Gokudera’s skin.

“No, that was mediocre at best, which you would know if you knew anything about music.” _Or anything about anything that wasn’t how to handle big phallic objects,_ Gokudera thinks, but bites his tongue; it’s not like Yamamoto would understand what the word “phallic” means, anyway.

“I know, I know, I’m an idiot,” Yamamoto agrees brightly. His voice lowers before he adds, “But you do sound really good.”

Heat creeps up the back of Gokudera’s neck at the compliment. The sooner he can make Yamamoto go away, the better. “Look, if you’re here for a chat, don’t bother. I don’t want to talk.”

“All right.” He breathes out a sigh of relief too soon, because it doesn’t take much time for Yamamoto to cross the room and plop down in one of the chairs to the piano’s right side. “I’ll talk, then.” Gokudera doesn’t look up, can’t bear to, but he can tell Yamamoto is fixing him with a rare serious gaze. Every once in a while he gets that look, the one of the natural hitman Reborn is so invested in, and it sends shivers down Gokudera’s spine. He doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of that critical eye, has no desire to be picked apart and examined the way one would scrutinize a busted bomb. And deep down, he doesn’t want Yamamoto to change. He’s seen what this world does; it’s a life he wouldn’t wish on most people, especially not the baseball idiot he may not hate as much as he previously thought.

“You like me, don’t you?” Yamamoto’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, makes him jump a bit off the bench. “If you don’t, it’s okay. I won’t push or anything. We can act like nothing ever happened. I just want to know.”

“You’re … sufficient,” Gokudera mumbles through gritted teeth. He would rather swallow dynamite than have this conversation.

Yamamoto beams. “That’s what I thought. So you like me and I really like you—“

“No, you really like going down on me,” Gokudera cuts in.

“Not just that, though I do enjoy it. But that isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?” He barks. “Are we really going to sit around and talk about our feelings like a couple of chicks?”

“Depends on whether or not you’re going to keep acting like a complete asshole.”

That surprises Gokudera; Yamamoto hasn’t talked to him like this since their failed fight with Gamma. It must show on his face, because Yamamoto quickly adds, “Well, you’ve been a real prick lately.”

“As opposed to every other day where I’m a ray of fucking sunshine?”

Yamamoto shakes his head. “It’s not the same. You’re a jerk, but you’re not usually intolerable.”

Gokudera snorts. “Sorry I couldn’t be a perfect princess girlfriend for you.”

“You’re not usually this defensive, either.”

“And _why_ would I be defensive?”

“Because you’re afraid.”

At that Gokudera snaps his head up. “The _hell_? What would I be afraid of?”

“Me,” Yamamoto replies, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’ve been on your own for so long you don’t want anyone to get under your skin because you’re scared they’ll hurt you or leave you or both.”

The taste of blood in his mouth makes Gokudera realize he’s been biting down on his tongue to keep from screaming. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his tone a low, lethal calm.

“No, I don’t,” Yamamoto admits. “I can only guess because you don’t talk to me.”

“Because I don’t _talk_! That’s not how I do things.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Maybe you should fuck off if it’s such a fucking problem.”

Yamamoto sighs. “I’m not going to argue with you. It’s exhausting.”

“Good, go take a nap or something, then.” It’s probably better this way, to cut things off before they start, before either of them really care about what’s happening. Sex, Gokudera’s found, can be swept under the rug pretty easily if two people want to avoid it bad enough.

The way Yamamoto looks at him, however, probably can’t. And Gokudera’s pretty sure the lead pit in his stomach as Yamamoto walks out isn’t going away anytime soon, either. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, unsure if Yamamoto’s even heard him until he feels something looming over his shoulder. “I don’t do this kind of stuff.”

Yamamoto slides in beside him. “I know. It’s not like I do, either.”

“No, but—“ And Gokudera bites his lip, because there’s no way in Hell he’s actually going to have this fucking conversation.

“’But?’” Yamamoto presses, his face open and honest with brown eyes wide. It’s more endearing than it has any right to be.

“You’re always around people. And people … they want to be around you. It’s not the same thing.” His eyes focus on the keys in front of him. If he looks away, looks at the person next to him, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop looking or talking and that Yamamoto will finally realize that Gokudera Hayato is a fucking headcase no one should bother with. “Why do you even _like_ me?” He finally blurts out. The words have stuck in chest ever since the night at the Tenth’s house and have been steadily crawling up his throat, unwilling to just go away. 

Yamamoto smiles at him. Not the usual toothy grin, just a soft turn of his lips, just for Gokudera. “Ah. I should have guessed that’s what this was all about.”

The fact that Yamamoto knows, has known, just how much of Gokudera is a show kills him. But it also makes him wonder why, with that information in mind, the most popular kid in their school decided to chase after an irritable, insecure bomb freak. “Should have, but you’re a jackass, so my expectations aren’t that high,” he retorts.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Yamamoto chuckles, reaching over to take one of Gokudera’s hands in his own. The skin is warm and rough, and the feeling is completely foreign, because people do not hold Gokudera’s fucking hand, ever.

He flushes a mortifying shade of red and yanks his hand away. “Don’t call me that!”

“Or you’ll do what? Break up with me?”

“That’s a start,” Gokudera replies darkly.

“Oh, so we _are_ dating then? I wasn’t sure.”

 _You sneaky son of a bitch._ “Things always fall apart for me, so don’t get your hopes up. It’s not like any of this really matters.”

“Nope, it totally does this time.” Yamamoto sounds so confident, the same way he does before a big game or going up against a Vongola opponent, and Gokudera doesn’t have the heart to keep disagreeing with him. Because Yamamoto’s right, it is tiring, being angry and wounded all the time. And maybe because there’s a part of him that hopes he’s wrong for once. “Oh, did you still want me to answer your question?”

“Huh?”

“About why I like you, because it’s a pretty long list—“

“Oh, my God, _no_.”

“I mean, you’re smart and you’re funny. And loyal, _and_ brave. Oh, and sexy! Definitely that.”

Gokudera clamps his hands over his ears and groans. “Please stop talking,” he begs.

“Only if you _start_ talking to me,” Yamamoto counters. “And not just to fight with me.”

“You are the worst person in the world,” Gokudera declares flatly. Damn this unfairly perceptive moron. “Fine, I’ll do the damn relationship therapy sessions. Happy?”

Yamamoto looks at him as if he’s something precious. “Yes.”

His heart absolutely does not leap at that. “Good. Now be quiet and keep your hands to yourself so I can do this.” He shakes his head, shutting Yamamoto up before he can speak, and starts. It’s more intimidating, oddly enough, to have only one pair of eyes on him instead of a room of family members or potential tutors. It’s definitely way Yamamoto watches him. His expression is way too fond for Gokudera’s comfort level and the whole thing is really just setting them both up for disappointment.

“Don’t get excited,” he says finally. “I’m playing and you just … happen to be here.” Despite his better instincts he looks up from his fingers. “No, stop smiling. And stop looking at me like _that_ , Jesus.”

“I can’t help it.”

"You’d better help it. Fix your face or something.”

“Sure, sure. After you finish,” Yamamoto vows, a glimmer in his eyes that’s positively unholy to Gokudera.

“One more song and that’s it.”

They both know it’s not. Vaguely Gokudera wonders if this is what progress feels like.

Either way, he plays.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song 'Ghost' by Laura Marling. Currently have more fics for this pairing in the making.


End file.
